


Double Meanings

by orchid314



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 17:27:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14573940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchid314/pseuds/orchid314
Summary: "Sit still. I shouldn't be doing this to begin with."





	Double Meanings

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Двойной смысл](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14852274) by [Little_Unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Unicorn/pseuds/Little_Unicorn)



> This is what happens when one has spent too much time indoors on a sunny spring afternoon. Un-beta'ed, so please excuse any errors.

"Sit still. I shouldn't be doing this to begin with."

"You're the one who offered."

"I'm aware of that and I'm telling you that I regret it already. And I've not even taken the blade to you yet."

"You'll be fine. Make sure that the cream is sufficiently moistened and that you've spread it generously all over. Yes, like that. See, is it so very difficult?"

"We shall find out..." Holmes pressed his teeth against his lower lip in concentration. Didn't he have a chemist's delicate touch after all?

He wiped the blade between the folds of the old tea towel and carefully drew it across Watson's jaw, maintaining the sharp edge close enough so that it dragged satisfyingly across the stubble, but not quite so hard that it bit the skin. Instead Holmes found that blood had bloomed on the inside of his own mouth.

Holmes placed his other hand against Watson's hair to steady him. Watson closed his eyes.

"Hmm..." he said, in a tone that flustered Holmes.

"Is my grip too strong?" Ever since their friendship had...progressed...to its current state, he had learned that Watson ("John" was reserved strictly for the transports of the bedchamber) liked his hair to be...how was one to describe it?...grasped tautly.

"No, just like that. You must be sure to use a firm hand." Watson's lips moved in a lazy smile.

Holmes stopped. "For God's sake, Watson."

"What?" He opened those dark blue eyes of his.

"You make this sound as if–well, it's practically indecent. Pull yourself together, man."

"Can't a person enjoy a shave every now and then without having to take himself all the way to the barber's?" Watson asked with injured innocence.

Holmes threw him a glance, but completed his ministrations on the rest of Watson's face.

"Now," Watson said, pointing to the nearby bottle of bay rum. "Take a little between your hands, rub them together, then apply it vigorously to my cheeks, like this. Don't worry, you won't hurt me."

Holmes cleared his throat.

"Well, come on."

Holmes set himself diligently to his task, as he had been bidden to do.

"There we are. Very nice. Yes, very nice indeed," Watson pronounced. "Much obliged, old man," he said, giving him a friendly slap on the arm. "Next time we'll work on my moustache." He arose from the chair and without further ado proceeded to the sitting room. 

"Oh, one more thing," Watson called behind him. "Be sure to sharpen the razor with the strop. You'll need to scrape it against the leather, strenuously, several times."

Holmes made a strangled noise. He could have sworn there was a suppressed grin hiding in those words.


End file.
